It’s different in every home. Some sing lullabies to their children,some read stories, some say a prayer but homes where there are children who have a sensory overload from a day that was fun and full, frustration and anger and emotions they don’t know how to express or get over, are homes like mine. I have years of that and not a single night is like I would like it to end. I would love to say goodnight to all my children in a manner I have envisioned. The older ones ;I would like to spend a few moments talking about their dreams and visions for the future. Although Ash is autistic and a high functioning individual I would love to have a constructive conversation talking about music or swimming or efforts I am working on to rehablitate him. I want him to know how important he is in my life and that if we can find some work for him he will be a man as he wants to be. Then there is Aan my artist, my beautiful caring loving daughter whom I want to talk about colors she envisions to put on canvas and I want to tell her to grab every opportunity despite anything.. despite anything that she feels keeps her back, I want to tell her that the world is all hers. K I want to spend time hugging and kissing and telling her how bright she is. I want to read with her and put her to bed in that cozy warmth I am supposed to give as a mother. But there is, every evening, chaos.  our youngest has trouble settling down. He is cranky and wants everyone out of the room and he take an hour and more to sleep. By the time I put him to bed the others have retired to another night sans mom. 

So, it’s natural I have left Facebook because the sensory overload there makes me feel inadequate not just as a mother but as an individual. People are achieving, moving on, writing, reading and I am unable to do all that. 

By midnight I am exhausted, tearful and frustrated. 

Each night I pray I can do better for my children the next day. Each night I hope the next day will be calmer or I will find this clue to my chaos and be able to bring calm and quiet to the ruffled nest I so lovingly have made. 

My bedtime stories do not exist.

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